


Belle

by bookwormchocaholic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Great Depression, Miscarriage, Missing Persons, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-03 02:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16317704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormchocaholic/pseuds/bookwormchocaholic
Summary: Det. Gold becomes increasingly obsessed in his investigation of missing author Belle French. “Laura” inspired; also inspired by a true story. Historical AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed. Expect mistakes and plot holes.

New York  
January 1932

Gold massaged his temples to alleviate his unmerciful migraine, but it was no use. He sank back in his chair and could only think of sneaking into his son’s bathroom and drinking the aftershave in the cabinet. _There’s alcohol in it._ He was supposed to abstaining from drink and sought out his son for assistance, but after years of continual drinking, alcohol had a hold on his soul and it was not about to release him. Not without a fight.

With Prohibition still going strong, it should have been difficult for him to find alcohol. Unfortunately, there was an illegal still on every corner, and as an investigator he could find whatever his heart desired. All he had to do was look the other way while they carried on with their schemes.

Neal was reclining on the front room’s sofa and didn’t tear his eyes away from him for a second. His boy was smart and he had a bright future, despite the fact he dropped out of college. He insisted on following in his father’s footsteps to become a police officer. Investigate crimes, make a difference in the world. Gold wished Neal would change his mind; the last thing he wanted was for his son to go down the same dark path. Become addicted to drink, end up suspended without a cent to his name, divorced, and relying on his son for help.

Gold mumbled a curse when there was a knock on the door. Neither he or Neal were expecting visitors. The last thing he wanted was to talk to someone. He hugged himself and rocked in his seat, feeling flustered.

Neal answered the door and Gold strained his ears to hear the conversation. Anything to take his mind off alcohol.

“Is Det. Gold here?” A light, feminine voice inquired. “His former partner sent me.”

Gold couldn’t think what was so damn important that Det. David Nolan would send someone to him. Especially after my disgrace. Det. Nolan must have been desperate.

“He’s busy at the moment.” Neal replied.

“Please, I beg of you-”

Gold got up and stalked over. He jerked the door back and snarled, “Whatever it is, I don’t care. Go away.”

He was about to slam the door in the woman’s face when she dropped down to her knees and clasped her hands together.

“I can’t. Please, my name is Colette French and my daughter is missing.” The dark haired, dark eyed woman peered up and her lower lip trembled. “The police haven’t been able to find her. They told me to give up. How can I give up on my child?”

Gold stole a sideways glance at Neal, his resolve wavering. His son was grown and fairly independent, but in his eyes, Neal was his boy and it would destroy him if anything ever happened to his boy. He couldn’t fault Colette French for being desperate.

“Could you give up on your child?” Colette glanced at Neal briefly before training her gaze once more on him. “Please!”

Gold sighed and motioned her inside. “You have five minutes.” He returned to his chair and slumped down.

He couldn’t believe he gave in so easily. Once upon a time, when he was young and his mind was clear, he was a good detective. But now he was old and broken and lost. But he needed something – anything – to distract him from his addiction.

Neal guided the woman into the apartment.

Colette stood before him, with a bag in hand. A slender, tall woman, he estimated she was in her fifties, but she appeared much younger. The little crinkles at the corner of her eyes betrayed her. She was well-dressed for times such as these, with her fur coat and kid gloves, an indication she had money. Only the wealthy could afford to be fashionable.

“Well, what are you waiting for, dearie?” Gold asked impatiently.

“Her name is Belle French Harcourt.” Colette lowered her head and nodded meekly. “She went missing around the time of the Crash. Her husband Gaston said they had an argument and she walked out. Belle hasn’t been seen since and she is not the kind to take off and not return.”

“Well, then the husband did it.” Neal concluded, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall.

Gold cast a withering look at his son and gave a slight shake of his head.

Neal looked sheepish and mouthed the word sorry.

His boy was right though. In all likelihood, Gaston Harcourt was behind his wife’s disappearance. But an investigator needed to hear the whole story before jumping to conclusions. What concerned him was that Belle French Harcourt had been gone for two years. The longer a person was gone, the less likely they would ever be found. And if Belle’s disappearance occurred at the time of the Crash, any reports in the newspapers would have gone unnoticed. That would not have been a coincidence. The person behind Belle’s disappearance knew no one would be paying attention to an article on a missing person when the whole country’s economy was spiraling out of control.

Colette continued, “Gaston didn’t report Belle missing until two weeks after she disappeared and then it was only under her married name.”

“What other name should Gaston have used?” Gold asked, a little perplexed. Women generally took their husband’s names upon their marriage.

“Why, her professional name, of course.” Colette frowned and her tone indicated she was annoyed by his ignorance. “She is a critically acclaimed author.” She opened the bag she was holding, withdrew a book, and handed it to Gold. “Isabelle French.”

Gold studied the volume’s dark blue cover. “Her Handsome Hero.” He fought the urge to roll his eyes over the romanticized title. “A love story?”

“Not even close, Papa.” Neal let out a snort. “It’s misleading; it’s a novel of realism and a psychological study of human nature. My girlfriend has her books.”

Gold pressed his fingertips once more to his temples. The migraine was still present, but it had lessened since Colette’s arrival. _This distraction is working._ If he could focus on something other than his thirst for alcohol, then he might make it through this rough patch.

Colette was beaming over Neal’s description of her daughter’s work. “Belle has a flourishing literary career, she is smart, ambitious, she has money. Above all, she has a family. She wouldn’t have walked away from her loved ones.”

The woman’s voice swelled with pride and the last thing Gold wanted to do was break her heart. But if he were to take this case on, he had to be honest. The worst thing to do was to give false hope. There would be no happy ending in this investigation.

Gold drummed his fingers on the book’s surface. “Mrs. French, after a two-year absence…” He rose to his feet and in the gentlest manner possible, he stated, “You do understand your daughter’s outcome will be bleak.”

“I know, I can accept that.” Colette swallowed and searching around in her coat pocket, she withdrew a hanky. She dabbed the corners of her eyes. “But I want to bring my daughter home. Her Father died of a broken heart and I want this solved before my time comes. Please, from parent to parent, have mercy.”

Fearing she would drop to her knees once more and grovel, Gold nodded, accepting the case against his better judgment. He was in no shape to investigate, not on his own. But he glanced at his son and realized that now was time to show Neal what an investigation was truly like. Of course, their investigation into Belle French Harcourt’s disappearance would be unofficial, but it might encourage his boy to return to school.

“All right.” Gold handed the book off to his son. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you. You are a Godsend.” Colette offered him a genuine smile and passed the bag she was holding to him. “Here are her books; they are the only things I have of her. Gaston has everything else of Belle’s.”

Gold placed the bag in his chair and would look through them later. First, he and Neal were going to pay Gaston Harcourt a visit. Until then he would have to remind himself that he should not jump to conclusions, however, he could not ignore his instincts that Gaston played a part in Belle’s disappearance.

#

Gold and Neal left for the Harcourt’s apartment bright and early the next morning. The light from the street lights reflected off the newly fallen snow and made it sparkle. The street the Harcourt’s lived on was empty, save for an occasional passing car. Gold liked catching suspects unaware. He believed their natural surroundings revealed more about them than a conversation would. It made them vulnerable and susceptible to mistakes.

Sleep evaded him last night and he craved scotch, but he hoped stirring outdoors might get his mind off of his own troubles.

Gold and Neal climbed the stairs to the second story of the building and located the Harcourt’s apartment. “Follow my lead,” He instructed his son and Neal bobbed his head eagerly. He could feel the enthusiasm radiating off of his son’s gangly frame.

He knocked and then knocked harder when no one answered right away.

“What?” The door was wrenched open and a tall woman with orange-red hair, wearing a silky-looking bathrobe leaned against the door frame. “What do you want?”

Seconds later, a large, hulking man in a blue robe lurked behind the woman. “Who the hell are you?” He demanded, his loud baritone echoing in the hallway.

“Gaston Harcourt?” Gold lifted a brow in question and received perturbed grunt for a response.

Neal cleared his throat and fumbled with the bag he brought to collect evidence. Poor boy hadn’t expected to find Gaston Harcourt with a strange woman who was clearly not his wife. But it took all types to make a world, and Gold found that unemotional adulterers played a huge part.

“Atticus Gold and this is my son, Neal.” Gold jutted his chin in the direction of his boy. “We are investigating the disappearance of your wife, Belle. Excuse me.” Before either Gaston or the woman could protest, he barged into the apartment. Neal was right on his heels and Gold felt the boy needed something to do to feel part of this. “Collect anything that belongs to Belle.” He instructed.

Neal grinned and took off like a giddy child.

Gold looked around the apartment and rubbed his chin. Gaudy, abstract art cluttered the walls, uncomfortable furniture filled the rooms, and fancy baubles were on every flat surface. However, he didn’t detect a hint of femininity, aside from the clothes the unknown woman cast off on the floor. There was no sign of Belle’s influence. Not a photograph or a personal article. He didn’t know any literary types, but assumed authors required a desk and a typewriter for their work. And a large bookshelf of books.

Gaston grasped Gold’s shoulder and spun him around. “You can’t do this!” His nostrils flared like a bull’s.

“I can and I am.” Gold replied smugly and knocked Gaston’s arm aside.

Were this an official investigation, he would have needed a warrant to enter the apartment. As a private citizen, he was merely trespassing and taking what didn’t belong to him. However, he knew from prior experience Gaston wouldn’t telephone the police. It would only lead to further questions.

Gold smirked and took a step back. “As Belle’s husband, you should be supportive of our little investigation. Is there a reason you waited two weeks to report your wife missing? Perhaps, dearie, you wanted Belle out of the way so that you could cavort with other women.” He chuckled when the red-haired woman made a squawking sound and rushed out of the room.

Gaston looked dumbfounded. “I – uh. This looks bad.” He raked his hand through his dark head of hair and gulped. “Okay, yes, I have been unfaithful to Belle, but our marriage was over long ago.”

A good-looking man, Gaston seemed to have no trouble with the ladies. His height, tan complexion, and bright white teeth would charm any woman. Gold couldn’t recall Colette mentioning what Gaston did for a living, but he suspected the man married Belle for her money and her celebrity. And then when Gaston had enough of Belle, he got rid of her. It was a tale as old as time.

“Go on,” Gold prompted.

“It was over since she had a miscarriage.” Gaston’s face reddened and his eyes watered. “She was broken after that. We both were. Belle wrote and I sought comfort elsewhere.” He hung his head and tightened the knot on his robe.

Gold pitied the man for the loss of a child; no one should have to go through that. But his sympathy soon abated. “You have yet to explain why you neglected to report your wife missing for two weeks.” He pointed out.

Gaston cast an apprehensive glance and Gold assumed he was looking for the red-haired woman. “Belle found out about Zelena and we had an argument. She said she was leaving me and going to stay with her mother. I assumed that’s where she was. Look, after the miscarriage, she was severely depressed. Inconsolable. She would fall into these writing vortexes and nothing could tear her away from her work. Maybe she, you know…” He sliced the air near his throat with his hand and made a clicking sound using his tongue. “Killed herself.”

Gaston uttered the last two words so cavalierly, that Gold was convinced the bastard was guilty as hell. The only time he showed an iota of remorse was when he mentioned the miscarriage. Belle’s absence didn’t affect him at all.

Gold studied Gaston and then cocked his head to the side. “I think it more likely that you or someone else killed her. I bet you had a life insurance policy on Belle, one that paid out and helped you through your economic woes.”

Gold loved nothing more than watching the blood drain from Gaston’s face. Yes, he did it. He just had to figure out how.

Neal returned with a bag overflowing with things. “I found most of Belle’s belongings stuffed away in a closet. I also found her diary, Papa.” He raised up the pale, blue book for Gold to see. “It was hidden under a loose floorboard in the bedroom.”

“Good job, son.” Gold clapped his son on the back. Pride surged through his veins. “We’re through here.” Neal went on out into the hallway, but Gold hung back to leave Gaston with the parting words: “Not to worry, Mr. Harcourt. We’ll find your wife and the one behind her disappearance.”

Gaston’s mouth swung open and he whimpered. In all likelihood, after what the bastard did, he deserved to fret about his outcome. He let Colette French fret about her daughter for two years.

Gold joined his son and listened, fully amused by how excited his son was to find a key piece of evidence. _Perhaps Neal could be an investigator after all._

It wasn’t until they were back at Neal’s apartment Gold realized he forgotten about needing a drink. The case was proving to be the distraction he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Gold and Neal spread the books, the diary, and photo albums on the floor of Neal’s apartment. They brought out snacks and got as comfortable as they could on the hardwood floor. His boy poured over Belle’s books; his youthful enthusiasm displayed on his round face. Gold found it challenging to accept that Neal was grown, especially when he looked more like a boy than a man. Yet, back at the Harcourt’s apartment, Neal more than proved he had the natural instincts of an investigator.

“Belle is amazing.” Neal announced off-handedly. He was half way through one of Belle’s novels and shaking his head in wonderment. “I’m going to have to read her works. She wrote and published this book, Enchanted Forest, when she was only twelve years old. It is about a girl who disappears in the woods and she finds a new, magical land. Then she won the Pulitzer five years ago.”

Gold rubbed his closed eyelids and then picked up Belle’s diary. He cracked it open and skimmed through the well-worn pages. Never once having met her or heard her speak, a clear and bright voice broke into his thoughts. To his dismay, the diary was fragmentary. Someone tore out pages and blackened out words. But his analytical mind was able to piece together the author’s story. Her husband had been correct in saying Belle was depressed in regards to the miscarriage.

 _“I can’t get over losing my child…I lost a piece of my soul.”_ Gaston’s infidelity also upset her. _“How could he do this to me, again and again? I thought he loved me.”_ Her longing for true love rather than public adoration was something else that struck a chord with him. Gold was captivated by her lyrical prose. If he had been properly introduced to Belle, he would have liked her. Belle’s love for future vacations at her family’s cabin in the woods and her ideas for future stories implied she had no suicidal tendencies. She was distraught by the loss of her child, she was healing and she was passionate about her latest novel. Colette was right; Belle wouldn’t have killed herself or voluntarily walked away from her life. The only thing that gave him pause was the number of times Isaac Heller’s name cropped up in her diary. _“I wish Isaac would leave me alone. He wants something from me…everyone wants something from me but no one ever wants to give me anything…”_

Isaac Heller was the next person he would speak to. He claimed to be a writer, but he was more than that. Her reports of him saying he “lived for her work,” and that he “marveled at the majesty of her prose,” that he would be “lost if anything happened to her,” was disturbing. Obsessive fanatics could be dangerous.

Gold shut the book and laid it aside, deciding he would peruse the diary again later when he had time to reflect on what he read. “Her diary is partially destroyed, but yes, she is brilliant.” He concurred.

He concluded that Belle wouldn’t have edited her own diary. She had it hidden and believed it to be safe from prying eyes. The one behind her disappearance tampered with it, though he couldn’t explain why the culprit didn’t destroy the whole thing. Unless the culprit wanted to point fingers at Gaston. Much as Gold disliked Gaston, he seemed genuinely surprised about the diary’s existence.

Gold shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. Usually whenever a case left him confused, he’d drink. His craving wasn’t as strong today, but the temptation continued to fester in his soul.

He plucked up a photo album and glanced through it, his eyes falling on a professional portrait of Belle. His heart skipped a beat and his throat tightened enough he choke. He loosened the picture from the page and brought it closer to study properly.

While it was done in sepia tones, but he could tell Belle had dark hair, which fell in curls along her shoulders and softly framed her round face. Her luminous eyes mesmerized him and her plump lips curved carefully into a kittenish smile. He’d give anything to taste and savor the flavor of that beautiful mouth.

She was beautiful. Ethereal. Angelic. Her pure soul was reflected in her expression and demeanor.

 _How could anyone harm such a divine creature?_ Gold gulped, feeling self-conscious for ogling her, but he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away. He was not a romantic, he never was. But somehow, he had fallen in love at first sight with a woman he never met and who had been missing for two years.

“She’s…perfect.” Gold exhaled a lengthy breath.

He hadn’t realized he said that aloud until Neal scooted over and glanced at the photograph. He didn’t miss the uncomfortable expression on his son’s face and would have to remind himself to keep his feelings in check.

It was one thing to feel sorry for the victim, but there was a fine line between sympathy and becoming emotionally involved.

#

The following morning, Gold and Neal went to a local restaurant called “Granny’s,” where they learned from word of mouth that Isaac Heller often spent his days. A bell chimed as they entered the establishment, heralding their arrival. The proprietress gestured for them to seat themselves and she would take their orders later.

Gold ignored her and surveyed the room twice before a small, squirrelly man in the corner booth claimed his attention. His shoulders were hunched and he was writing something down.

“You look tired.” Neal commented, breaking into his concentration. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“A little.” Gold fibbed. He had hoped his blood shot eyes and dark circles would have gone unnoticed.

He tried, he tossed and turned, but insomnia plagued him. Usually he would drink himself into oblivion, but this time his thoughts drifted to Belle. Images of her flickered through his mind, as well as thousands of unanswered questions. He finally gave in, turned on the light, read her diary several times, and looked through her photo album. His spirit was then soothed and he relaxed some. She entranced him in a way alcohol never could. He could have sworn he heard her, calling his name, pleading for him to help her. Then he knew, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he brought Belle back home.

Gold rubbed his hands over his angular features. “I never met Belle, but I dreamt of her.” He ventured a glance at his son.

“Really?” Neal’s face was puckered into confusion. “That’s strange.”

 _You have no idea, son._ Gold advanced towards the booth in the corner and dropped down in the seat across from the squirrely looking man.

He was small, unimpressive, with dark hair and eyes. The man dropped his pencil and closed his notebook with a slap.

“Author Isaac Heller?” Gold slid over for his son to sit.

Isaac nodded frantically, his mouth making an “O.” “You heard of me? You read my book?” He grinned.

“No. I’m not much of a reader.” Gold snorted and shook his head. Belle and her writings were his only exception. He could lose himself in her and not care. “Your name crops up quite a bit in Belle French’s diary. You followed her around, you tried to get her attention, sent her harassing letters. With her disappearance two years ago, as an investigator, I have to ask, did you harm Belle French?”

“No, that – that’s not how it was.” Isaac gulped loudly and hugged the notebook to his chest. “We were writing partners…she seemed supportive of my work, but then she betrayed me. Belle’s latest book was originally mine. But she stole it, my notes and my outline! She turned it into her publisher as her own.”

Gold gripped the table edge to prevent himself from wringing Isaac’s neck. _That little bastard!_ How could he malign Belle’s good name like? After all the work she had done over the years and after everything she had been through, Belle didn’t deserve that. She revealed the pain she carried with her in the diary and it affected him personally. That she could have the perfect life and only be truly loved by one person: her mother. He had an imperfect life and was only truly loved by his son.

“That would certainly give you motive to kill her.” Neal folded his arms on top of the table.

“I would never do that!” Isaac pressed his palm to his cheek. “I just want credit for my masterpiece and now no one takes me seriously-”

Unable to hold his tongue a second longer, Gold shot back. “Belle never would have plagiarized your work, she wasn’t that kind of person.” He gritted his teeth and pain shot through his jaw. “I mean, for crying out loud, she first published when she was twelve years old and she won the Pulitzer. Why bother with a failed writer like you? No, I think Belle wanted nothing to do with you and you were so enraged, that you killed her.”

“No, that’s not true!” Isaac protested, “Belle wasn’t as wonderful as what everyone says. She was a manipulative bitch!”

“Shut your damn mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” Gold shot to his feet and stretching over the table, he grabbed Isaac by the collar. He showed his fist for the author to see. He was older and nowhere near as quick as the younger man, but he knew he could beat the hell out of Isaac.

The customary clatter and chatter of the restaurant ceased and silence sliced through the room. All eyes were upon him. If he did punch Isaac Heller, there would be twenty-some witnesses to proclaim his guilt. But for Belle’s sake, it would be worth making the man who stalked her and ruined her good name pay.

Before Gold could act on it, Neal grabbed his father by the forearm, pried him off of Isaac, and wrestled him out of the booth. His boy then dragged him out of the restaurant.

The artic bitterness of the air snapped him out of his rage. Gold broke away from his son and strode off down the sidewalk. He exhaled, his breath freezing and curling from his lips.

“What the hell was that?” Neal called out and caught up with Gold. “Surely you don’t think Isaac Heller is the one. He’s a pest and a liar, but he doesn’t have it in him to take a life.”

  
Gold threw up his hands in defeat. “I’m sorry, son. I’m distracted.” His eyes stung and not from the cold, but from unshed tears. He never cried, not over a case. Instead, he drank to forget whenever a case affected him. But this time it was different. “The other day I was convinced Gaston had a hand in it. It made sense though it would have been too simple. Then when Isaac was spouting those lies about Belle, I wanted to kill him. All I can think of is Belle and what kind of trouble she is in.”

“Papa, you’ll figure it out, you always do.” Neal’s anger faded and all that remained was pity. “You just need a good night’s sleep.”

Gold nodded and he followed his son back to their apartment. He was tired and he wished a good night’s sleep could cure him. But it wasn’t that simple.

The case, the mystery, the confusion – but most of all, Belle herself – was consuming him. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see her and whenever there was silence, he could hear her voice. He had no connection whatsoever to her, but her triumphs and pain and losses were so keen, he swore he could feel them. She haunted him worse than any addiction, personal demons, or ghosts could.

No matter what this case’s outcome, he wouldn’t be able to forget Belle French.

#

Gold went to bed that night, but he didn’t even try to sleep. It was no use. He laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting until he heard Neal turn in. He tossed back the sheets and blanket, turned on the light on his nightstand, and picked up Enchanted Forest, the book Belle wrote when she was twelve years old. The portrait photograph of Belle, the one he cherished, fell out when he opened the novel. He had been using it as a place marker…the book was also the perfect hiding place to keep Belle close to him. Guilt festered in his gut, that he continually gawked at her picture, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t stop himself.

He wasn’t drinking, at least. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in days and the cravings died down. This case proved to be more than an ideal distraction, he felt cured of his addiction.

He flipped through the pages of the story and came to part where the young heroine went to the woods for refuge and discovered a magical land. On her adventures in the magical land, she found a cabin that she made into her home. Belle’s childlike narration transported him out of his misery, just as a story should.

 _The cabin!_ Gold scrambled for her diary, which was also on his nightstand, and scoured the pages until he came across an entry describing the French family cabin. He tried to suck in a breath, but it hitched in his throat and led to a burning sensation in his chest. _Belle is at the family cabin!_

It made sense. Her novel’s heroine found peace in the cabin in the magical land. In her diary, Belle described her family’s cabin as “my one refuge from this world.” She followed in her heroine’s footsteps and “disappeared” in an idyllic land. Perhaps she had enough of Gaston and Isaac Heller using her for their own gain, and decided to break free from them.

Gold rolled out of bed and gathered up the book and diary, as well as the photograph, he rushed out into the living room. He turned on the light and heard a frustrated groan from his son.

Neal had taken the sofa, letting his old man have the bed. Pained by the light, he scrunched up his face and then flung an arm over his eyes.

Gold grabbed his son by the shoulder and shook the boy awake.

The boy made an unholy sound. “Papa?” He croaked, cracking open an eyelid. “What now?”

“I figured it out. I know where Belle is.” Gold declared and swatted his son on the knee to coax him awake. “Come on, get up. There’s no time to lose.”

An hour later, they were on the road to the French family cabin in the Model T Ford he bought Neal before the Crash. Because of the extravagant expense of gasoline, they rarely used it now, saving it for special occasions and emergencies. Tracking down Belle and bringing her home constituted as an emergency. Another perusal of her diary and he found the exact description and location of the cabin.

Neal kept his eyes on the slick, unlit country road at all times. The headlights on the car illuminated their pathway, but with it being the middle of winter and it freezing out, it was dangerous to risk such a journey during the night. The moon was hazy, concealed behind feathery clouds. The pale sky, a winter’s sky, shown above, hinting a winter storm was coming. Neal attempted to persuade him to wait until morning and failed.

Gold was on the edge of his seat, silently willing the car to move faster. He ought to be exhausted since he hadn’t slept in days, but his hot blood rushed through his veins and pumped his heart at an erratic beat. He wouldn’t rest until he found Belle and he was assured of her safety.

“Did you sleep at all?” Neal’s hoarse voice broke the uneasy silence. His boy was irritated, but Neal would understand his urgency once they found Belle.

“Who can sleep?” Gold tossed up his hand glibly. “It makes sense. That Agatha Christie did the same thing. Belle set up her own disappearance.”

Neal mumbled. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” He tore his eyes away from the road and though Gold couldn’t make out his expression, he sensed it was a perturbed one. “I’m worried about you, Papa.”

“I’m not drinking.” Gold retorted.

“No, Belle French is your alcohol now.” Neal shot back.

Gold cringed, unable to deny his son’s accusation. Neal was right. He had traded alcohol for Belle. Her words, her books, her diary, her life, and her essence breathed new life into him. He didn’t know where she began and he ended. No, his obsession was far worse than an alcohol addiction, because he could free himself from drink. But there would be no freeing himself from Belle. He was hers, heart and soul.

“You know the odds.” Neal continued, this time in a softer tone. “After two years, she’s probably dead. You told Mrs. French that yourself.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Gold shook his head. He would not accept such a notion that his Belle was dead. “I’d know, I would feel it-”

“Feel what? You never met Belle French! She doesn’t know you exist!”

Gold winced. He wasn’t a fool. Had he and Belle met, she wouldn’t look twice at him. He was her senior by twenty years, graying, wrinkled around his eyes and mouth, snaggle-toothed. She was whole and perfect, and he was broken.

Neal slammed on the brakes and put it into park, then he turned off the car.

Gold had gotten so wrapped up in their discussion, he hadn’t realized that they made it to the cabin. The small, compact structure looked unimpressive compared to how Belle described it in her diary. He expected something idyllic and this, one room, unkempt, ramshackle cabin didn’t match up. There were no lights on, which wasn’t surprising since it was in the dead of night, but there didn’t appear to be any smoke pluming from the chimney either.

“Papa,” Neal began, once more resuming a kinder tone, “it doesn’t make sense that Belle would disappear on her own and not tell her own mother.”

Gold disregarded his son’s logic, as well as his own. Hugging the book and the diary, he climbed out of the Model T. He shoved the car door shut and made his way up to the cabin, the ground and crystalized snow crunching beneath his shoes.

He twisted the door handle and finding it unlocked, he pushed his way in. For second there, he expected to find Belle inside and he was crushed when he found the cabin empty. The pale sky cast white rays through the windows and offered him enough illumination to grope around. The room smelled damp and with every breath he took, he drew in a lungful of polluted air. No one had visited the cabin in years, least of all Belle.

He heard his son join him, the boy’s footfalls landing on every single creaky floorboard.

Gold covered his mouth, fear seizing him and making his arms and legs tingle. “I really thought Belle would be here. It made sense. That she had enough of her husband and Isaac Heller and her life. And she came to the one place she knew she could find peace.” He finished lamely, “It’s what her heroine did.”

Neal sighed. “Maybe that was her original plan, but something happened beforehand.” He clasped his hand on his father’s shoulder and squeezed.

Gold’s eyes watered, but he blinked the tears away. He didn’t know which could be worse, that Gaston and Isaac did something to Belle. Or that Belle escaped from her life and on the verge of freedom, she succumbed to some tragedy. Neal was right; he never met Belle and though he read her diary, he didn’t truly know her. Somehow, he created this person in his mind, this perfect woman who would be the answer to all of his problems. He ignored all of his instincts and logic and fell in love with her. Or, at least, he was in love with his idea of Belle.

 _I’m no better than Gaston or Isaac._ He considered bitterly. In her diary, she complained of people using her, and he did the same thing.

“Papa, I’ll continue to help you in this investigation, but you can’t let this claim your soul.”

“It might be too late for that.” Gold replied and handed off the book and the diary to Neal. He departed from the cabin; if he stayed there a second longer, he would be torturing himself.

Abstaining from Belle would be far more difficult than abstaining from alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/179378903064/belle-chapter-2


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Neal solve the case.

Gold crouched down on the bedroom floor and thumbed through the new crisp edition of Enchanted Forest, thinking perhaps this newer edition might contain something the older one did not. In new editions, authors revised things and added notes. The night of his and Neal’s failed search for Belle at the French family cabin, he voluntarily gave the old copy of Belle’s book back to his son. It was meant to be a gesture of admitting his defeat in this investigation. However, he went out the following morning and bought a copy for himself, that he would never have to part with.

 _I ought to feel ashamed, but clearly, I have no pride._ Gold frowned and continued to study page after page. Neal would scold and think him weak, so he hid the book under the mattress and only indulged in reading it when his son was out or asleep. Neal was out now, but would be back soon enough.

Gold flipped to the front of the book and landed on a page that made his blood run cold. The dedication page. “Dedicated in loving memory to my Mother, Colette French.”

Gold read those words several times, but he couldn’t make his mind grasp the meaning. _What the hell?_ He was still sleep deprived and no longer thought rationally, but to him it sounded as though Belle’s mother Colette, died years ago.

He heard Neal return and propelled himself upwards. Before his son could put away the groceries he had picked up, Gold rushed over and thrust the book – opened to the dedication page - at him.

“Read this.” Gold ordered.

Neal rolled his eyes at the sight of Enchanted Forest, but he did as his father asked. He suddenly dropped the bags of groceries in the middle of the floor. The sound of glass bottles shattering made Gold jump, but he disregarded the mess.

“Colette French is dead?” Neal exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Then who the hell was that woman who visited us? And why didn’t the old copy have the dedication page?” To answer his own question, he stepped around the groceries and went to the coffee table where Belle’s books were neatly stacked. He picked up the older copy of Enchanted Forest and examined it. “It’s missing the dedication page.” He concluded.

Gold looked at the old copy and found where a page had been carefully ripped out. In all of his readings of it, he neglected to notice. “That woman,” The corners of his mouth curled into a smile as he held up a finger. “was the one who made Belle French disappear.”

He didn’t know the identity of the woman who sought him out to investigate Belle’s disappearance, or what the woman’s motives where, but she was behind everything. And it took all his self-control to not to meet the woman on his own and make her pay for playing with them like marionettes.

It took some work on Gold’s part to convince his former partner, Det. Nolan, to join their investigation. Only when he threatened to go over to track down the woman and take her into his own custody, did Det. Nolan agree to meet him and Neal at the French’s home.

“This had better be worth it, Gold.” Det. Nolan cautioned coldly as the three climbed the steps of the old, two-story Victorian mansion. He was usually good-natured and easygoing, and though he sent the woman to Gold, David Nolan had good reason to be wary.

 _I was irresponsible and intoxicated and I endangered everyone._ Gold nodded and decided he no longer cared if his reputation was restored or if the suspicion was lifted. The only thing that mattered to him was Belle.

Neal elbowed him in the ribs and sent him an encouraging smile. While they also had their differences, his son continued to believe in him.

Gold knocked and came close to pounding on the door when the woman didn’t answer right away. He bit back a sting of profanity when she greeted them with a demure smile.  
“Det. Gold, did you find my Belle?” She asked in a sickly-sweet manner.

Only then did it occur to him how theatrical her behavior was on their first meeting. Her words, her demeanor, even her tears – they were fake. There was no resemblance between her and Belle either. But he had been wrapped up in his own troubles, that he missed all of those clues.

“No, dearie, but you really didn’t expect me to.” Catching her off-guard, Gold barreled his way into the house and looked for any sign of Belle. For all he knew, this woman could have her drugged and locked away in a room or an attic, or even a basement. “You are not Colette French. The real Colette French died years ago. Who are you and why are you masquerading as a dead woman? And why did you seek me out?”

A brief flicker of rage crossed her face, but it was soon replaced with an expression of astonishment. “Preposterous!” She gasped, limply dropping into a chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Neal was the next to step over the threshold. “I think she was trying to frame Gaston.” He moved over to the rolltop desk in the corner of the room and began to search through it for clues. “I don’t know what she did to Belle, but she sought you out with that story about Gaston. That way if the truth came out, she wouldn’t be a suspect.”

The woman sniffed, but made no response.

Gold watched as Det. Nolan remained in the doorway. The blond man’s skepticism gradually diminished. He crossed his arms and tilted his head, peering at the woman. “I bet if we investigate far back enough, we can find out your true identity.”

The woman swiped tears off her cheeks, but the three remained unfazed. Her sadness subsided when she realized she could no longer fool them. “Very well.” She straightened in her seat and primly folded her hands in her lap. “I am her step-mother, Cora. I only wanted to find her. I love Belle.”

Det. Nolan produced a pair of handcuffs and motioned her over. Cora obeyed, turning her back to him. She might have been going quietly, but considering she had masterminded her step-daughter’s disappearance and convinced them all in believing Gaston was behind it all, she could not be trusted. From Gold’s personal experience, someone like Cora would stop at nothing until she got what she wanted.

Det. Nolan announced, clasping the cuffs around her wrists. “Well, I am going to take Cora in for impersonation and obstruction of justice. My deputy will be along directly to go through the house.” He gave a knowing nod to Gold before he departed with the suspect.

Gold longed to join Det. Nolan in the interrogation of Cora, to be the one who coerced a confession and get the whole story out of her. To find out firsthand what happened to Belle. But it couldn’t be.

“This is interesting.” Neal was reading a small notebook. He backed up against the desk drawer, shutting it.

Gold went to his son’s side and looked over his shoulder. There were columns of figures and next to the numbers were a small description. It appeared to be a bank book.  
“Cora has made monthly installments in Gaston’s name to the hospital asylum.” Neal informed him, pointing to one section on the page. “It spans the time Belle has been missing.”

Gold staggered back and felt light headed. _Could Belle be alive?_ Except for the search at the French family cabin, he conducted his whole investigation under the belief Belle was dead. All evidence seemed to indicate as much. She had been gone for two years, there was no body, scant amount of evidence, no witnesses.

He was afraid to hope too much, but he would never forgive himself if he didn’t go to the hospital and find out for certain.

#

Gold didn’t care that he had been obnoxiously shouting at the head nurse for nearly an hour, disturbing the other patients and those in the waiting room. The dour, pinch-faced woman behind the admitting desk gave as good as she got. Neal tugged on his coat sleeve, begging him to calm down, but he refused.

“Not when I’m this close!” Gold snarled at his own son. Neal threw his hands up in defeat and let him continue yelling at the nurse.

He couldn’t give up, not now. Cora might not confess to anything and Gaston was no help; if Belle were in the hospital’s asylum, she would never leave. Not without the permission of whoever committed her. Belle would be free, or he would die trying. He didn’t know if he would ever find his happy ending, but she certainly deserved hers.

Gold detected movement out of the corner of his eye and felt relieved when he saw that Det. Nolan had come.

“I swear, Gold, you can’t do things like this.” His former partner scolded, his chiseled jaw tightened. “Cora confessed; she and Gaston were behind it. They had a recent falling out and Cora tried to pin the blame on Gaston.” He withdrew a piece of paper from his coat pocket and laid it on the desk in front of the nurse. “I have a warrant and Atticus and Neal Gold are with me. Show us where Lacey Mills is.”

Gold exchanged a puzzled look with his son, and then he understood. Cora and Gaston put Belle under a false name in the asylum, that way if anyone did come looking for her, they would never find her. His first instinct that Gaston had something to do with Belle’s disappearance proved correct, however, he never suspected a conspiracy.

The nurse left her post and gravely led them to a door at the rear end of the hospital. Gold was two steps behind her as they descended the cement stairs to a damply, chilled basement. There were few lights and he heard the rustle of rodents scurrying about, and droplets of water pinging. His whole body shook with unchecked fury. Cora was lucky to be in police custody, otherwise he would have killed her himself for locking Belle away in such a place.

The nurse took them into the far recesses of the basement, stopping finally at a large, cement door that read, 112. She produced the keys from her belt and hesitated.

“Open the door, or so help you God-” Gold didn’t have to finish out his threat.

The nurse fumbled with the keys until she found the right one and then shoved it into the lock. The key screeched as she turned it and when there was a click, the nurse pushed the door open.

Det. Nolan should have gone first, but Gold entered instead, followed by his son, and then his former partner. The light from the hall trailed into the room and after his eyes adjusted, he could make out what was inside. A bed, a bucket in the corner, and hundreds of dark slash marks on the walls tallying the number of days the inmate’s imprisonment, were the only things present in the room.

A thin, lithe figure in a tattered hospital gown, scrambled from the makeshift bed. It was a woman. Her wide eyes sunk into her tiny face and her stringy hair hung limply on her narrow shoulders. There was no color to her cheeks, but after two years of imprisonment in a place where the sun couldn’t touch her, he was not surprised.

Gold was initially dumbstruck, but found his voice. “Belle French?” He grasped her arm and squeezed it gently, loathing how he could feel her sharp bones beneath a thin layer of skin. “It’s really you?”

“Do I know you?” Belle blinked and bit her lip. She was trembling, no doubt from a combination of faintness and anxiety.

“No, but you will.” Gold drew back, afraid of overwhelming her. After all she had been through, the last thing she needed was him making her uncomfortable. He would do everything possible to conceal his obsession and love. She deserved a fresh start. “My son and I investigated your disappearance. Cora and Gaston are taken care of. You don’t have to worry about them anymore. You’re free now.”

Belle’s face crumbled and she broke out into a sob. He was stunned when she threw herself into his embrace and clung to him as if her life depended on it. Sadly, it made sense. The world as she knew it turned against her and she had no one else.

His arms slowly encircled her and then petting her tangled hair, he crooned, “It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s going to be all right.”

And he swore he would make sure that it was.

#

ONE MONTH LATER

Gold tossed his pencil down, reclined in his desk chair, and looked at Neal who sat across from him and was buried in his own work. They each had a desk and situated their desks together, making it feel like an actual office setting. Nothing fancy, but it suited them. After solving Belle’s case, the police force lifted his suspension and invited him to return, but he declined.

He smiled. His son’s brow was knitted together in contemplation. His son had a gift, an innate goodness that would keep him on the straight and narrow. They talked it over and decided they liked working together and opened up their own investigative service in an office building. Counting Belle’s case, they solved four in the last month. Four mysteries the police couldn’t figure out. Best of all, he finally freed himself from alcohol’s bondage. He had to be strong; he couldn’t go back to drinking no matter what his demons were.

Gold heard their office door, but was contemplating over the events of the last month and disregarded it. He nearly fell out of his chair when he heard the familiar melodious voice of Belle French beckon him.

“Hello.” She waved shyly.

Gold stood, knocking his knee into his desk. He swallowed back a curse, and felt like he was going to swallow his tongue too.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, after all he hadn’t heard from her since her release from the asylum and her belongings were returned to her. Not that he was surprised. She was busy, putting her life back together and healing. Much as he adored her, he was nothing to her, except the man who helped her. She, on the other hand, wasn’t far from his thoughts. He would never forget her.

Yet here Belle was, wearing a fine blue frock and fashionable coat. A cloche hat set atop of her hair. Color had returned to her face, along with the sparkle to her luminous eyes. A touch of cosmetics only accentuated her beauty. She had filled out some and he hoped she would continue to, because she still looked too gaunt.

She suddenly giggled and it occurred to him that he was standing there gaping at her, his mouth slackened.

“I will let you two talk.” Neal informed them and nodding to Belle, he grabbed his coat from the coat rack and swept out of the room.

Gold’s heart skipped a beat when Belle approached, her hands clasped together. “Det. Gold, I wanted to thank you in person for finding me.”

“It was no matter.” He was going to go on and say it was his job, but he couldn’t find the words to continue on with the falsehood.

Belle shook her head and stood a hair’s breadth from him. “You saved me – you saved my life. It was everything. I never would have left that awful place alive if it weren’t for you.” She added, blushing, “And your son.”

“This case continues to puzzle me.” Gold drew his chair over and gestured for her to have a seat. When she was situated, he moved Neal’s chair closer and sat opposite of her. Their knees were almost brushing. “Gaston committed you to the asylum somehow, to get you out of the way. So, he could have his affairs and if you were declared dead, he would inherit your life insurance. He didn’t have it in him to take a life.” He gone over it again and again in his mind, but he couldn’t comprehend Cora’s participation. “But why would Cora agree to it? Why masquerade as your deceased mother? She has not given us a solid motive.”

Cora and Gaston blamed one another for masterminding the scheme, and while Gaston offered his theories about Cora, he wasn’t able to explain everything. He and Cora both had been charged with kidnapping and obstruction of justice, and would face further charges.

“Because I believe Cora killed my mother.” Belle paled, except for her nose and the rims of her eyes. They were pink. “The real Colette French died of an apoplexy when I was four years old, but I remember her as if it were yesterday.”

Gold probed around in his trouser pockets and his search for a handkerchief turned up empty. He shrugged, feeling foolish for being unable to comfort this remarkable woman.  
“We lived in Australia then and my father had been carrying on with Cora for a while.” Belle opened her purse and withdrew a hanky. She wiped her cheeks and her nose. “After the real Colette died, Cora assumed her identity and the three of us came to America. But I never forgot my mother and when I was twelve I began to piece things together and I wrote that book as an escape. Cora wanted to get rid of me because I was coming close to proving who she really was. Gaston and I had an argument about his lovers and I told him I was going to leave him. Later that evening, he put something in my cup of tea and I blacked out.” Her fingers tightened their grip on her purse, her knuckles whitened. “The next thing I knew I was in the asylum.”

He felt sick to his stomach. Cora fooled everyone and would have continued to, if it weren’t for Belle. He and Neal might have been instrumental in her discovery, but whether she realized it or not, she left so many clues behind.

“Are you all right?” Gold gulped, longing to take her in his arms again and comfort her, but after all she had been through, he didn’t want to be presumptuous.

“I will be. Someday. I lost two years of my life.” Her eyes turned glassy and her tone was husky.

Gold took a deep breath and decided to be brave. He leaned forward and covered her hand, patting it gently. “I know you feel lost right now, but I’ll tell you what I told you when we found you. It’s going to be all right. You’re a brave, strong, intelligent, beautiful woman-”

Before he knew it, Belle was sitting in his lap and her mouth was on his. Unsure of what to do, he rested his hands on her tiny waist and simply stayed on the receiving end of the kiss, allowing her to take charge of this. Her fingers carded through his hair, scraping his scalp, coaxing a groan from him. He was right; he would savor this kiss for the rest of his life. She tasted of the sweetest chocolate.

Belle broke away briefly and whispered, “Thank you.” Her eyes locked with his and detecting her assurance, he was relieved and touched she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “I’ll dedicate my next book to you.”

“I would be honored, sweetheart,” Gold cupped her cheek and brushed his lips against hers.

He never thought it possible, but he, too, found his happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this story is based on the life and disappearance of author Barbara Newhall Follet. For more information, go to http://www.farksolia.org/ or https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Newhall_Follett.


End file.
